


Doused

by cass_e



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOSF SPOILERS, Angst, Arguing, Character Death, Depression, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cass_e/pseuds/cass_e
Summary: TW: NON-GRAPHIC SUICIDE-----For Cassian, the world was cleaving in half. Because some string had been cut. A string he hadn't even touched yet. A string that had barely been tied.-----Or the fic in which Nesta kills herself.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	Doused

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I wrote this because I'm super depressed and going through writer's block. Enjoy your suffering! Only blood is mentioned. No injuries.

* * *

**NESTA**

* * *

Nesta had been angry before.

But the anger she felt after The Intervention was, for lack of a better word, different. It had . . . transformed — _was_ transformative. Alive. It had a mind of its own.

As Nesta inspected her new room in the House of Wind, she thought, _Good._ Because her _own_ mind was a vortex of thought, worry, and downright paranoia.

So it was . . . _good._

It was good that this new anger had given birth to something different, something of Nesta’s own blood and bone, in the eye of her storm.

Because she desperately needed someone to shoulder part of her burden, and what better person for the job than herself? A version of herself that was growing stronger by the second?

Cassian had left her to get settled in, but she didn’t want to.

Nesta didn’t think she could physically stand living in a house with people who thought she was so broken she couldn’t be seen anymore. It felt like every second she was here, someone was laughing at her. Telling her the worst.

If she didn’t do something about it and fast, she knew she’d go insane.

But that’s what _they_ were waiting for.

They were waiting for her to buckle under the strain of being alone and trapped.

They were waiting for her to ask for help, so she wouldn’t.

It was that simple.

Instead, Nesta would take them down with her. She’d make them regret trying to smother her. She’d make them regret tucking her, the embarrassment, away from Prythian, as if it’d solve all their problems.

Slowly, carefully, Nesta let the anger in her mind smile, let it curl her lips.

She liked it too much to tell it to stop.

* * *

**CASSIAN**

* * *

The Illyrian general sighed to himself as he sat at the dinner table all alone.

Azriel was out doing gods know what for Rhysand.

And Nesta?

Cassian had checked on her an hour ago. She’d just been sleeping, probably tired from this afternoon’s events. The fact that such small things could exhaust her was concerning to Cassian, but he’d bring it up later.

Preferably when Nesta had a full stomach.

Cassian ran a hand through his wet hair as the house magicked him some dinner. It looked delicious, but the silence was starting to ruin his appetite. So he stood, grabbing his plate.

Cassian made his way to Nesta’s room, lips pursed in thought.

He wanted to be optimistic about training with Nesta, but she had a rep for being stubborn. It wasn’t news to anyone, but still . . . Cassian didn’t want to _force_ Nesta to train.

He wouldn’t force her to do anything, really.

But bringing her to the House of Wind was different. It was for her own good. It was.

As Cassian rounded on Nesta’s door, he knocked on it a few times. “Nesta, I brought dinner.”

Gods, he sounded lame. He just knew he did.

And then . . . nothing.

“Nesta, come on,” Cassian said a bit louder. “I should’ve woken you up hours ago.”

More silence.

Cassian rolled his eyes as he toed the door. “You better be decent, Nesta, because—”

He froze, the smell of blood blinding him. His knees buckled as he shoved into the door, throwing himself into Nesta’s — empty room.

She wasn’t here, but her blood was.

“Cauldron,” he whispered, shoving his plate onto the bedside table.

He rushed into Nesta’s bathroom, sending a thought to Rhysand. Cassian was in the middle of planning a search party for Nesta when the faelights in the bathroom flickered on, revealing something far worse than the empty room.

He’d sensed it was empty because it was, in a way.

Because Nesta was dead.

“No,” Cassian breathed, barely registering the footsteps rushing toward Nesta’s room. “No, no, no—”

“Cassian!” He heard Rhysand shouting. “Cassian!”

But Cassian was underwater, deaf to the world above its surface, wherever that was. He threw himself against the bath, slipping a bit. He hadn’t even registered that the bath was still going, that the water had strategically hidden her scent.

“NO!” Cassian roared, supporting the top half of Nesta’s body. “NESTA!”

The red water of the bath taunted him. Told him that she had just been alive. That her very essence was still in Prythian, in the in-between.

Gasps sounded behind Cassian, but he couldn’t look away from Nesta’s hauntingly peaceful expression.

“Nesta!” Cassian shouted again.

It was like the only thing he could say. Hot, fat tears rolled down his cheeks. Sobs ripped through him harder than any blade ever had. Cassian couldn’t even keep his wings up as every muscle in his body clenched and unclenched. His instincts told him to fight, to save Nesta, but she was already gone. There was nothing to save.

Once Cassian came back to himself, he realized that the wounded, animalistic sounds in the bathroom were coming from _him._

“Holy hell,” Rhysand said from somewhere behind him.

More footsteps sounded from above. Cassian thought he heard a female screaming in anguish. It sounded like Feyre.

For Cassian, the world was cleaving in half. Because some string had been cut. A string he hadn’t even touched yet. A string that had barely been tied.

The Illyrian pulled Nesta’s body out of the bath until she was on the floor, and then he leaned over, holding her to his chest.

“No,” Cassian wailed, shaking his head. “No, this isn’t—! Nesta . . !”

“Where is she?!” Feyre shrieked, stumbling through the doorway. “Please! Gods!”

Cassian turned around just in time to see Feyre clutch at the bathroom doorway, blood-tinged water from the bath sloshing past her shoes.

It spread into the room like a fog.

Feyre took one look at the bath and Nesta before turning around, vomiting into the room.

As she struggled to catch her breath, Cassian raised his head until he locked eyes with Rhysand. He’d never seen him look so chewed up, so guilty. So distraught. The purple-eyed fae stood to the side of the doorway, leaning against the bathroom wall for support. Like his legs would give out at any second.

Rhysand held the fabric over his stomach like he, too, might vomit. “Cassian, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“You just— Don’t say anything. Don’t fucking say _anything,”_ Cassian snapped, face still twisted with grief. “I don’t need you to say something that’ll only make you feel better in the end. Because getting Nesta out of your hair was all that mattered in the first place, right?”

When Rhysand only stared at Cassian, eyes wide, the Illyrian raised his voice. “RIGHT?!”

Feyre wiped at her mouth as she turned back to the bathroom. “Cassian, please . . .”

Azriel strode down the hall, peering over Feyre’s head. He froze, gaze jumping from the bath, to Nesta, to Cassian. His brow furrowed as he lowered his head, unsure of what to say.

Cassian shuddered, looking back down at Nesta’s pallid face. He squeezed his eyes shut as he kissed her forehead and then pressed her face into his neck.

His wings twitched once, twice, and then dropped.

He’d lost his other half before even realizing it was missing.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, I don't really like this, but I just needed to write something and be cathartic about it. Not my best work, but yeah. As always, comments and kudos are appreciated.


End file.
